Fool’s mate
(1. f3...e5 2.g4...h4 mate!)
Unwise for White to push the pawn to three;
Exposing royalty to Black’s attack.
With pawn at Bishop three, one must agree
f3 was not the move to play on Black.
The Black opponent counters with e5
A sure maneuver yielding enterprise.
His queen has open space and hopes to strive
To leave her home and head for White’s demise.
The fool's deficient understanding, moves
His pawn obliviously (seals his fate)
To square g4. A move I disapprove
Of. Black has won the game, h4! The mate!
The lesson learned from this experience
Don’t play a fool with inexperience.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Health: A sojourner
One never contemplates mortality
Until our health begins to fade away.
In our youth we possessed vitality
Thought it would last forever and a day.
But comes a season our thoughts will languor
And dreams of immortality will wane
Like unto annual summer flowers
Whose spring advents we never see again.
Our health is such a very fragile thing
We often take for granted in our lives;
And like the blooming flowers in the spring
Their stay is brief until their time arrives
When all the lovely blooms begin ebbing
That’s not unlike the health we once possessed
A bitter pill to swallow nonetheless.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Robert Fisher
I wrote this poem shortly after his death on January 17,2008.
Bobby Fisher, chess savant and master
Unparalleled among the best that played.
A champion, a genius, destroyer
Of chess opponents, this day passed away.
You either loved him or hated the man
There wasn’t middle ground. His time had come.
Eccentricities never lost his fans.
I am the proof, e pluribus Unum.
In life his brief existence was tragic
Perhaps in death we’ll gain understanding
Of genius. Chess his forte, his magic
Preoccupation gave us deepening
Enlightenment of Caissa, his mentor.
His spirit now with her forevermore.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Swan Song
A poets quill lies on his desk
Atop a sheet of coffee-stained
Paper containing stylish script-
An Edwardian handwriting.
The quills point appeared to be dry
For sometime, likewise the inkwell.
On closer inspection the words
On the page became legible:
“My Swan Song” the title began.
It continued: “The flame of life
Grows dim and everything I have
Seen in this light was through the eyes
Of love. Love was writing verses
With this pen.” The words ended there.
Further searching found a yellowed,
Crinkled obituary clip:
“Today the town is saddened by
The loss of its poet Albert__...”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Grim Reaper
With waning moon below the Horizon
The darkness fell upon the slumbered town.
An even darker phantom fell upon
The people. (Death) had descended and found
Its quarry. Walking silently among
Their homes until he reached a wealthy man
Asleep in bed. He touched his eyes, erelong.
At once, they opened wide. “Oh, bogeyman
Begone! Oh horrible dream, please leave me!
You dreadful thing! Who are you? I’m lord here!
I’ll beckon servants, they will hear my plea.”
Be silent fop! Your time has come, give ear:
Your hedonistic life has caused much pain.
I send you where the conqueror worm reigns.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Brewed fear
Standing in the silence of the night when
all daylight sights disappear from my view
I found myself alone and afraid. Then
As midnight approached, the shadows turned to
Horrid, winged specters leaping about me.
I was terrified by their ghastliness.
Suddenly there appeared from their midst three
heinous ghosts standing before me possessed.
The largest of the three stepped forward. It
Began to speak in a thunderous voice.
“Your fear is two-fold: You fear what you see,
Us! At the same time your fear is by choice.
You cling to ancestral fears concocted
In ignorance, steeped in religious dread.”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Bee considerate
I wrote this childish poem for a group of fourth graders during the month of April 2008 in celebration of National poetry month.
A butterfly alighted gently on a flower.
Along came a honeybee that had the same desire.
Sir! Said she, ” did you not see I reached this blossom first? '
'I did', said he, 'but why can't we surfeit our nectar thirst? '
'Because”, said she, 'you must agree it’s but a tiny bloom.'
'It’s when I drink, I flap my wings....there isn't any room! '
'Perhaps your right' he then took flight and hovered noisily.
She then looked up, and said, 'good luck! ” appreciatively.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The ring
A small golden ring with a blood–red heart
Rests amid his gadgets and the clutter
Of his desk like some famous work of art.
He gazed at its bright luster then muttered:
“Why must your keepsake evoke this sadness
In my heart each time I gaze upon you?
Her ring remains but also my madness
Lingers on, anguish I’m suffering through.
Oh heart! Must your heartthrob keep on beating
Since my lover’s heart stop beating long ago?
Must this ring bestir in me these feelings,
Unfeeling band must you torture me so?
Will you ever grant the peace I’m seeking
Or remain a hopeless pawn of her ring? ”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Chasing Rainbows
Today, all day, my Irish leprechaun
We get our chance to catch you if we can.
You hold the secrets of hidden treasures.
This time we will use successful measures.
For most, we’ll sit in pubs all day and hunt
for you in greenish stout from favorite haunts
Along the way. What fools we mortals be
That think at rainbows end we’ll find the key
To gold and sundry riches in a pot.
Hah! All that’s found are fractured dreams and sots.
From time immemorial fools have tried
In vain to follow dreams of gold worldwide.
Thus, chasing dreams and dodgy rainbows
Makes one lose sight of what’s under your nose.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Sage
Alone, aloof atop a hill they’re lived
A sage whose renowned insight I sought
To gain. Trekking, trudging I soon arrived
Exhausted- Price to pay for abstract thought.
Upon my reaching wisdom's only door
I ventured-dared- an undertaking knock.
“Who’s seldom rap I hear, I implore? ”
He asked. “A knowledge seeker, please unlock
The mysteries of life, I‘m looking for.”
“You that entreats abstruse profundity
Request to borrow secrets from my door? ”
“Yes master, my climb was steep and weary.”
“You’re a fool! Your effort was all in vain.
Wisdom's door is closed until it’s gained.'
poem by Albert Ahearn
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